


Voices

by TallGingerUnicorn



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24714715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TallGingerUnicorn/pseuds/TallGingerUnicorn
Summary: Waverly Earp is the wealthy, obedient daughter of Wyatt Earp and a member of the British elite. During the turmoil of one of history's most volatile periods Waverly finally discovers her own voice as she slowly falls in love with headstrong American woman Nicole Haught in London, England. Beginning in 1906, this work of historical AU fiction follows the budding romance of Waverly and Nicole through the growth of women's suffrage in Britain against the backdrop of the Great War and its aftermath.I've endeavoured to make events as historically accurate as possible, but have taken some liberties with famous figures and locations.EDIT: Waverly's father was originally called Wyatt, but I started disliking him so much the more I wrote him that I decided to change him to Ward Earp :P
Relationships: Waverly Earp & Wynonna Earp, Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught, Wynonna Earp & Nicole Haught, Wynonna Earp/Doc Holliday
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

_1906_

Waverly Earp knew she was in trouble as she limped home leading her little grey pony by its broken bridle. The pony followed meekly, as if embarrassed after spilling his mistress into a ditch. Waverly didn’t care about the ache in her leg. She didn’t blame the pony. She was more concerned by the fact her father had expressly forbade her to ride alone for this exact reason and now she was going to be late for dinner.  
  
She dreaded her father’s reaction.  
  
Ward Earp was a man of order, bred by centuries of men of order. Heir to a legacy of orderly men and women who knew their place and did what they were told. He often lamented his misfortune at begetting two such rebellious daughters as Waverly and her older sister Wynonna and, in no uncertain terms, he blamed their mother who had long ago given up hiding her alcoholic tendencies.  
  
Theirs was a dysfunctional family. Atypical of the British elite to which their name belonged. They spent long months at their quiet country estate to the west of London near Reading, hiding their eccentricity. Earp Manor was a small estate by the standards of the British peerage. In the early days Waverly’s ancestors had farmed here quite fruitfully but now her father bred Thoroughbred racehorses and spent hours hunting in the nearby hills with visiting dignitaries. Ward enjoyed entertaining more important men on these hunts and never ceased in his attempt to better his family’s position in society.  
  
Waverly surmised this was why it galled him to lack a male heir, an insult furthered by the two unsuitable daughters he had been cursed with. She herself wasn’t much of a disappointment, at least in her opinion. At only twelve years of age Waverly Earp was reasonably intelligent and obedient. But no matter what she did her reputation was prematurely tarnished by her older sister Wynonna.  
  
Six years her senior, Wynonna was a loose cannon. Opinionated, wild-natured, ill-mannered, and insubordinate, Wynonna delighted in angering their father with her progressive ideas and lack of tact. She spurned traditional, feminine activities in favour of the rough and tumble hobbies associated with young men. Waverly fondly remembered the time Wynonna stole their father’s best racehorse and led a group of desperate servants on a merry chase across the countryside. They’d finally caught up to her in a small inn on the road to Winchester, drinking a group of soldiers under the table and cheating at cards. At his wit’s end, Ward had sent her away to boarding school in nearby Oxford. This had done little to tame her. But at least she was out of sight.  
  
She was coming home today, Waverly recalled. Accompanied by a young schoolfriend of hers from America and escorted by Ward’s sharp-faced, sardonic friend Doc Holliday. Waverly was no fan of Doc’s. She found him much too intense. He had the quick, wily persona of a predator who noticed everything. His steely-eyed gaze and stiff moustache unnerved the younger Earp. But Wynonna seemed to get along with him and the two had an easy friendship that extended beyond formal dinners with the family and encompassed lazy horse rides and chaperoned walks around the vast Manor gardens. Waverly often wondered if they were closer than they appeared. Waverly knew about lovers. She had read her mother’s well-worn copy of _Wuthering Heights_ several times.  
  
Wynonna’s homecoming was why Waverly must not be late. Her father was a stickler for punctuality, unlike some of his peers. The British elite seemed to slide lazily from one function to the next without any kind of obvious haste, but Ward had joined the army in his youth and still ran on military time. He despised the nobility’s unrepenting tardiness.  
  
Waverly came across a laneway and heaved a sigh of relief. She must now only be a couple of miles from home. Ruefully, she looked over her shoulder at the damaged saddle on her pony’s back. The accident had been her fault entirely. The pony, game for anything with his blood up, was eager to attack a hedge at the end of a long gallop. Unfortunately, Waverly had failed to see the deep ditch on the other side before take-off. Luckily the pony had emerged from their tumble unscathed, but had flipped and rolled, twisting the saddle so violently it was now an unrecognisable lump of leather and mud. There was no chance of her riding home and saving her bruised leg.  
  
Resigned, Waverly started along the lane. They had only gone a few hundred yards before she heard the jingle of harness and the swish of wheels on dirt. Looking over her shoulder once more she saw a smart, bay high-stepping Hackney horse approaching drawing an elegant, familiar black carriage trimmed with gold.  
  
The carriage drew alongside Waverly and halted. A heartbeat later the side-door was flung open and Wynonna’s grinning head popped out.  
  
“Little sister!” she crowed. “What on earth are you doing out here?” The older girl’s eyes slid from Waverly’s dishevelled face to the muddy pony and ruined saddle. “Oh dear, Father isn’t going to be pleased.”  
  
“I know,” Waverly groaned miserably. “And I’m late!”  
  
“Late! Well, fear not. Climb in.”  
  
Wynonna withdrew her head and the tall, thin form of Doc unfolded from within the carriage. He did not smile at Waverly, but did tip his hat genially as he took the pony’s reins from her and swiftly tethered the little grey to the back of the carriage, then handed the younger Earp up the steps.  
  
The inside of the carriage smelt like cigar smoke and Waverly wrinkled her nose involuntarily as she stepped to an empty space by the far window. She found herself seated across from a stranger.  
  
“Hello!” she said, cheeks flushing as she realised how awful she must appear with mud all over her dress and matted hair.  
  
The stranger, an attractive red-headed woman, didn’t seem to care about Waverly’s appearance. A smile tugged her full lips aside to reveal neat, white teeth. “Hello,” she replied with a bold American accent, brown eyes gleaming in the light from the window. Doc climbed back inside and shut the door with a snap. The carriage rocked and began to move again.  
  
“Waves, this is Nicole Haught,” Wynonna said, gesturing to the red-head. “Her family know the Nedleys.” The Nedley family were old friends of Ward’s.  
  
“My father served with Randy Nedley in India before he emigrated to America,” Nicole explained. Her voice was smooth and feminine and she spoke naturally, completely at ease in the company of Wynonna and Doc. She lounged back against the wall, gently grasping her left wrist with the elegant fingers of her right hand. Waverly’s eyes were drawn to the clean lines of her plain, midnight-blue dress. She admired the American woman’s utilitarian aura. There was nothing girlish or traditional about her, she seemed like a contemporary woman. It made sense that she and Wynonna would be friends.  
  
“What brings you to England?” Waverly asked, attempting to nonchalantly smooth her hair. To her dismay she felt twigs and other debris tangled in the mess. Inwardly she groaned, but Nicole didn’t seem to notice.  
  
“A mild interest in European affairs,” Nicole replied, pinning Waverly with her gaze, lips twitching as Wynonna snorted. It took Waverly a moment, but then she felt her cheeks heat as she realised the statement was a double entendre. She cleared her throat and looked out the window. The carriage now turned up the long drive to Earp Manor and her eyes lit on the rolling horse fields that tumbled gaily down the hill on which her home sat. Mares and foals grazed peacefully in the spring sunshine. In the distance a hay wagon was being stacked by men who were just pinpricks against the skyline.  
  
To Waverly’s relief Jarvis, the driver, avoided turning the carriage up to the front doors and instead pulled up the horse in the courtyard next to the stables. He clearly knew how much trouble Waverly would be in if Wyatt saw the state of her pony. Waverly made a mental note to thank him later.  
  
“Better get inside and clean up, sis,” Wynonna said, gesturing to Waverly’s stained dress. “We’ll distract Father.”  
  
Waverly nodded gratefully, trying her best to ignore the way Nicole kept staring at her.  
  
Happily, Waverly was able to slip in a side door and make her way upstairs to her bedroom without running into her father. She swiftly changed, shedding her ruined riding dress and pulling on a demure, muted pastel blue number that a maid had laid out that morning. Ward preferred his daughters to dress modestly and Waverly usually didn’t mind, but for one reason or another now she was irked that the high collar and puffed shoulders hid her blossoming female figure and made her look stubbornly childish. The only consolation was the dramatic accentuation of her waist and hips, which was the style these days even amongst the more conservative.  
  
With trembling fingers Waverly pried what debris she could from her tangled hair and readjusted her updo. At the last minute she impulsively tugged a strand loose and let it fall against her cheek as she had seen Wynonna do. Scrutinising her appearance in the room’s tall mirror, she also popped the top button of her collar. Disappointingly she still looked very much like the child puberty was trying to leave behind. Waverly longed to have the beautiful, curvaceous figure older women possessed. But her breasts were growing slower than she would have liked, and her face was still round with “puppy fat” as her mother called it. Waverly desperately wanted to grow up.  
  
Somewhere in the depths of the house the dinner bell sounded. Waverly huffed one last sigh at her reflection, hooked the errant strand of hair behind one ear, then headed downstairs.  
  
She found her family in the dining room. Their mother, Michelle, was already seated, a glass of champagne in hand. She wore a pink, frilly dress from last century that did not suit her plain appearance, and Waverly knew the redness in her cheeks was not from rouge. As Waverly entered Michelle took a long, unladylike gulp from the flute.  
  
Ward and Doc were also drinking, both cradling squat tumblers of Scottish whisky in their right hands where they stood together next to the sideboard. Ward was not as tall as Doc, but he had almost fifty pounds of weight in his favour. His muscular chest strained against his elegant white waistcoat. Doc also wore the white-tie and long tails customary for noblemen at dinner, but they hung loose on his thin frame. He had slicked his hair back with brilliantine. The two were talking in hushed tones.  
  
The door behind Waverly opened and she turned to see Wynonna and Nicole enter. Wynonna wore a red dress with the popular daringly-low neckline that was becoming fashionable. Waverly was immediately envious. Nicole had changed into another sensible dress, violet in colour and also low in the neckline, but less risqué than Wynonna’s. Her dark red hair was swept up behind her head, with half allowed to tumble down in loose curls that bounced against her alabaster shoulders. Their contemporary attire made Waverly feel a thousand times more immature.  
  
There was a tsk sound and Waverly looked to see Ward scowling at his older daughter. Of course, he wouldn’t approve of her dress, but Waverly knew he wouldn’t object openly in the company of a guest. Judging by Wynonna’s wide grin she had banked on this. _Well played_ , Waverly thought in admiration.  
  
They all took their seats as footmen appeared with the first course. Service at Earp Manor was always a la Russe, beginning with soup. Today it was a simple chicken broth. Waverly played idly with her spoon as she listened to Ward and Doc discuss recent news, while Wynonna and Nicole debated a class they’d both apparently disliked. Michelle alternated between sipping from her champagne flute and tasting small mouthfuls of the broth.  
  
After some time, the footmen reappeared and whisked away the bowls, replacing them with the fish course and pouring everyone a glass of white wine. Waverly was repulsed to see this dish was baked haddock, her least favourite, and she left it untouched. Instead she drank her wine. Despite being just twelve-years-old she was allowed one glass per meal. She felt the warm alcohol spread throughout her body. A light buzz spiralled in her head. Suddenly she felt much better about her day.  
  
The third course was, thankfully, a hearty Polish stew and Waverly was happily tucking in when the conversation at the table became heated.  
  
“Why shouldn’t women have the vote?” Wynonna said, challenging her father from across the table. Waverly looked up from her stew in time to see Ward’s eyes flash angrily.  
  
“A woman’s place is in the home,” he said, his deep voice booming authoritatively from his large chest. “Women simply aren’t capable of making the decisions needed to run a country.”  
  
“We’re not asking to drive the horse, we’re just asking for a seat in the carriage,” Wynonna retorted witheringly. She was Ward’s equal in stubbornness. Waverly knew that if Wynonna had been born a boy Ward would have been proud as punch to have such an educated, passionate heir.  
  
“You don’t understand how complicated politics can be. They’re beyond a woman’s comprehension,” Ward admonished derisively. He shifted in his tall-backed chair, apparently content that the argument was swaying in his favour.  
  
“Finnish men disagree,” Wynonna replied, referring to the recent passing of universal suffrage in the Grand Duchy of Finland, an autonomous part of the Russian Empire. The revolution of 1905 had opened the doors for universal suffrage, and now the principality looked poised to become the first nation in the world to elect female MPs. The election was set for next year.  
  
“That’s because they’re Finnish,” Ward sniffed. He had the typical xenophobic attitude coveted by British elite. To Ward and his peers Britain was the world’s greatest superpower and all other nations were inferior for no other reason than they weren’t British. Finnish people may as well have been chimpanzees as far as Ward was concerned. He certainly didn’t respect their political opinions.  
  
“This conversation needs to ‘Finnish’,” Waverly muttered to her stew. She was startled by a muffled snort of laughter and looked up to see Nicole covering an amused grin. Nicole’s warm brown eyes danced to Waverly, and looked away again as the American woman struggled to keep her composure. Waverly herself felt a smile steal across her face. She was pleased she’d made Nicole laugh.  
  
No-one else had noticed her comment. They never did. Wynonna had started to argue with Ward further about female suffrage but Doc had smoothly cut across her and changed the topic to the civil unrest in the Balkans. He shot Wynonna a warning glance and the older Earp sister settled back, fuming but mollified.  
  
Michelle silently moved on to her fourth glass of wine.  
  
The rest of dinner passed uneventfully. After dessert was completed Ward and Doc retired to smoke cigars and continue their dinnertime discussion. Michelle disappeared to her bedroom. Waverly was left with Wynonna and Nicole.  
  
“I feel like a walk,” Wynonna announced. “Shall we, Nicole?”  
  
“Can I come?” Waverly asked. She stood up and followed the two older girls out into the elegant front hall. Earp Manor was decorated in attractive Victorian fashion with intricate furnishings. A large tapestry depicting the Battle of Waterloo hung on the wall opposite the grand staircase that ascended to the second floor. The last rays of golden daylight streamed through the open front door. Outside Waverly saw two grooms walk past with a pair of handsome Thoroughbreds.  
  
“I think you’ve had enough excitement for today, kid,” Wynonna said. “Father would kill me if we lost you in the dark. Besides, Nicole and I have,” she cleared her throat, “important things to discuss.”  
  
Waverly felt her heart sink. She knew ‘important things’ meant adult stuff, and that Wynonna thought Waverly was too childish to join in.  
  
“Sorry, Waverly,” Nicole said, throwing her a sympathetic smile. Waverly felt a little thrill hearing her name spoken in the older woman’s distinct American accent. She also felt gratitude for Nicole using her name, rather than referring to her as ‘kid’ like Wynonna. It was a small consolation but comforted her nonetheless as she watched the two school friends retrieve their coats and exit the manor down the wide steps outside. Waverly watched them go ruefully.  
  
“Important things,” she muttered to herself. Then she turned and retreated deeper into the house alone.


	2. Chapter 2

_1910_

(i)

Waverly didn’t see Nicole again for four years. Wynonna finished her schooling in due course and the two women parted ways, as often happened with female school friends. Waverly surmised Nicole had probably returned to America to settle down with a husband. The idea tortured her, but she couldn’t understand why. She had regular visions of Nicole’s enigmatic smile and sparkling brown eyes. These thoughts did nothing but confuse her further and persisted for years.

In a vain attempt to dispel them she busied herself with her own studies. Unlike Wynonna, who had been sent away to curb her wild ways, Waverly was tutored at home. She was taught “womanly” subjects such as piano and languages. She excelled but longed to learn more difficult things like politics. In secrecy she stole the newspapers Ward discarded and perused the few volumes of British history he kept in the dusty, disused library built by his great-grandfather a century ago. Nobody else in the family cared to read so the library became Waverly’s personal hideaway, and she spent many long afternoons with her nose buried deep in the annals of colonial disputes and monarchical regimes.

Then, in February, as every year, the Earp family uprooted and returned to London to prepare for the start of the social season. This was the first year that Waverly was permitted to attend most of the balls and she was nervously excited. Perhaps she would finally be granted some freedom to speak to people her own age, and no one would call her a child. She might even find a paramour to court her. The idea was thrilling.

In the four years since the disastrous homecoming dinner at Earp Manor, Waverly had grown up physically and matured. She was not as tall as her sister, but her body had developed and finally grown proper breasts and womanly hips. Her dresses, though demure, now clung to her figure in all the right ways. In the past year she had enjoyed attracting the attentions of several local boys, sons of landowners. One had attempted to ask Ward’s permission to court her but he had disdainfully turned the poor lad down. His daughter was not going to lower herself to marrying a farmer. Waverly had been disappointed; Percy was a lovely kid from a kind family. He was now engaged to the daughter of Ward’s head groom. They were to be married next month. Waverly occasionally saw the two of them riding horses around the country roads that ringed the Manor, happily laughing with one another and very obviously in love.

She was jealous.

The Earp family’s return to London wasn’t solely motivated by the opening of the social season. As a member of the House of Lords, Ward was expected to weigh in on an important new law. Called ‘The People’s Budget’ it was designed to tax the lands and income of Britain’s elite in order to fund social welfare programmes for the destitute. Understandably, most of ranking nobility were against it. Ward included. The Budget had been passed in the House of Commons last year, but blocked by the House of Lords. Debating had now reached fever pitch and the Budget looked set to pass. Ward was furious.

He moped around the house, fuming, venting his frustration by barking at the poor servants when they made mistakes. Waverly’s mother spent increasing periods of time sequestered in her rooms to avoid him, and Waverly herself began taking long, chaperoned walks just to get away.

One day in late March after listening to her father’s shouts echoing for the umpteenth time through the bowels of the grand Earp townhouse, Waverly decided to leave again. She sought out her dedicated maid Elise, who seemed glad for the excuse to escape, and the two of them set out.

It was a glorious spring day and Waverly quickly shed her light coat, which Elise carried for her. The pair headed towards the great St. James’ Park and skirted the outside, marvelling at the beautiful swans and pristine turf. Then, at Waverly’s behest, they headed towards the famous Trafalgar Square past the back of 10 Downing Street, where the Liberal Prime Minister Herbert Henry Asquith resided. She didn’t know why her feet wanted to take this particular route today, but both she and Elise enjoyed the brisk walk and beautiful sights of the West End.

Within half an hour they found themselves nearing the Palace Theatre and Waverly finally found sense to pause. She had no idea where they were, having never strayed this far on foot before, and peered about her with a sense of wary interest. They were near the intersection of Charing Cross Road and Shaftesbury Avenue, the latter famous for its collection of concentrated theatres. Waverly had attended a few operas here as a child but had little memory of the layout. Struggling to orient herself, she stepped forward onto the road to look up the street.

She didn’t see the out of control carriage racing towards her. Her concentration was interrupted by the racing of hooves and frantic shouts. Waverly turned to see death looming down in the form of a frantic black horse, its eyes staring starkly, foam from its gaping mouth flecking the muscular chest as it galloped headlong towards her. Its metal shoes drummed a staccato knell on the road, and hauling on the reins with all his might was a white-faced driver. For an instant Waverly’s eyes locked on his and she knew her time had come. She was oddly calm.

But it was not to be. At the last possible second two strong hands grabbed Waverly by the shoulders and yanked her back out of harm’s way. The horse and carriage thundered past, finally halting mere yards from the busy intersection. The horse stood trembling, steam rising from its sweating flanks in the spring air, and Waverly realised she, too, was shaking.

She finally tore her eyes from the carriage to thank her rescuer, only be hit by a different blow.

Nicole Haught stood before her, chest heaving with fear and exertion. Her forehead was creased with worry, brown eyes searching Waverly’s. The American’s hands ran quickly over Waverly’s body, checking for injury, and only once Nicole had satisfied herself that Waverly was alright did she draw the young Earp into her arms for a desperate hug.

Waverly was more shocked by the sudden appearance of Nicole than she was by her near-death experience, but she gratefully relaxed against Nicole’s body. She could feel that Nicole wore no corset and indeed, when she broke the clinch and stepped back, she could see that the American was wearing a rather shapeless green dress, drawn in only a little at the waist. Her hair was now daringly cut short above the shoulders, as was the fashion among the less austere young women. Rather than seeming mannish, it highlighted Nicole’s sharp, feminine jaw and the smooth skin of her neck and shoulders. Waverly found herself speechless, and she wasn’t at all sure it was because of the near accident a moment before.

“Waverly Earp!” Nicole admonished. “What in God’s name were you thinking? Stepping out into the street, you were nearly killed!”

Waverly found her tongue unwilling from shock, but she forced it to work. “I don’t know,” she replied lamely. “I was lost.”

“What are you doing all the way up here anyway? You know what, never mind. Come with me. You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Nicole cupped a hand under Waverly’s elbow and Waverly found herself being led firmly across the street where she’d nearly died and up Charing Cross Road, an equally pale Elise tagging along close behind. The three women passed the halted carriage. Waverly saw the driver had dismounted and was attempting to calm his poor, frightened horse. She noticed the carriage was, in fact, a cab and was mercifully empty.

“‘E’s only young. It’s ‘is first day in the city,” the driver shouted to the bystanders, continually petting the trembling beast.

Nicole half-guided, half-dragged Waverly two-hundred yards further up the street, finally arriving at a storefront. Waverly saw the words “THE WOMEN’S PRESS” emblazoned above the door and windows. In the front display were leaflets and booklets. She caught a glimpse of one with “VOTES FOR WOMEN” and “LIBERTY” scrawled above a drawing of three impeccably dressed ladies in military stance. Then they stepped inside.

Inside the shop was crowded, but all the women seemed to be working rather than browsing. A few perused books over by a counter, while two others bent over a typewriter, seemingly arguing over the wording of a document. Yet another woman strode purposefully past carrying a satchel filled with rolled up posters. She nodded at Nicole as the three women bypassed the throng and beelined through a small door to a back room.

Here there was only one other woman – a short, dumpy-looking girl who seemed to be Waverly’s age. She was dressed austerely in a black skirt and white blouse, and had her hair coiled tightly in a bun at the back of her head.

“Nicole!” she trilled in an unfamiliar accent. “Been out recruiting, have you?” She locked her gaze on Waverly, who saw that the woman had one lazy eye.

“Not quite, Mabel,” Nicole replied. “This young lady was nearly involved in catastrophic accident. She’s in shock. Has the kettle been boiled?”

“Catastrophic, you don’t say,” Mabel replied with undisguised mirth. “Better get a cup of tea into her, then. We wouldn’t want the death of an heiress on our hands.” Waverly finally pinned her accent as Welsh, with a heavy East End influence, and guessed Mabel had lived in London a number of years.

“You won’t believe it, but she’s the sister of a school friend of mine,” Nicole replied, busying herself at brewing two cups of tea. “Sit,” she said to Waverly, gesturing to a bare table and chairs. Waverly sat. Elise just gripped the back of one of the chairs, looking faint.

“Sit down,” Nicole repeated, bringing over two cups of tea with plenty of milk and sugar. She gently pushed Elise into a chair and the maid collapsed as though the last vestiges of strength had finally left her legs. She weakly cupped her tea in two hands and took a shaky sip. Waverly followed suit and was relieved to feel warmth stealing through her body.

“That’s better, you have colour in your cheeks again,” Mabel said from over by the counter. She leaned casually against the rough benchtop, gripping it behind her with one hand and grasping her cup with all fingers like a man would.

“Where are we?” Waverly asked. She was relieved to hear her voice was steady. The tea seemed to be working.

“You’re in the heart of the suffragette movement, honey,” Mabel said, grinning. Waverly saw she was missing a front tooth. “The den of depravity itself.” She laughed.

“Depravity? Who’s talking about depravity without me?” came a new voice, and in stepped another woman. This one was tall with curly blonde hair and blue eyes, and she had a Cockney accent. The new woman stepped over to Mabel and, to Waverly’s disbelief, kissed the other passionately, pressing her against the bench. Mabel returned the embrace in kind, even gripping the other woman’s breast. Waverly stared, aghast. She had never seen homosexual activity in person.

“Now, now, ladies. We have company,” Nicole drawled, smiling in amusement.

The two women parted. The newcomer turned and saw Waverly and Elise. Her eyebrows raised when she saw how Waverly was dressed.

“Oh, balls,” she said. “The gentry.”

Her coarse language shocked Waverly, but she instantly rose to the challenge. From somewhere deep inside she found a new self-confidence rise.

“Don’t let me spoil your good time,” she quipped in response, feeling her face heat. “It was just getting interesting.”

Elise gasped at Waverly’s forwardness, but the newcomer grinned.

“She’s a wild one, Haught,” she said to Nicole. “But then, you always did prefer Thoroughbreds to pit ponies.”

Now it was Nicole’s turn to blush and Waverly watched her with surprise. Was it possible? Could Nicole also be _queer_? The notion seemed absurd, but then Waverly remembered the stories Wynonna had told her about the goings-on at boarding school and how some of the girls practised kissing with one another. Waverly knew about queer men, there were plenty in the nobility, so it stood to reason there were also homosexual women. The idea intrigued her.

Nicole cleared her throat. “We’re not …” she tried to explain, but her sentence died uselessly.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Nicole, don’t be so coy,” the blonde said. She stepped forward and shook Waverly’s hand like a man would, gripping tightly. “I’m Elizabeth. But you can call me Liz.”

“Waverly,” Waverly replied, shaking back with enthusiasm. Her heart was racing. The situation she had found herself in was delightfully salacious. It felt like an open secret, this club for women who kissed other women and fought in the street for the right to vote.

“We’re going to The Rose Field tonight, Nic,” Liz said. “Perhaps you should bring your enchanting new friend.”

“The Rose Field?” Waverly asked.

Liz fixed her with a grin. “You’ll love it,” she replied mysteriously.

But Nicole was shaking her head. “The Rose Field isn’t a place for young girls,” she insisted. Waverly bristled. She was sick to death of being treated like a child. She’d show Nicole! A wicked plan began to form in her mind.

“Perhaps you’re right,” she said, hitching an imitation of regret to her tone. She stood up. “Come Elise, I think we’d best head home.”

“I’ll see you to a cab,” Nicole offered.

“No, no. Thank you, but we’ll manage fine.”

Elise looked positively terrified of the idea of getting into a cab similar to the one that had nearly run Waverly down. But Waverly wanted the time to think and not worry about walking. On the way out of the shop Waverly turned and caught the eye of Liz and Mabel. She winked, and Mabel’s “I say!” followed them as they made their exit.


	3. Chapter 3

_(ii)_

At five o’clock that evening Waverly faked an illness. Her father was uncharacteristically concerned, but lost interest when she claimed it was “womanly troubles”. He allowed her to go upstairs and miss dinner. Waverly loudly proclaimed she didn’t want to be bothered and asked Elise not to worry about bringing her supper. For one fleeting, terrifying moment she saw a flash of recognition on Elise’s face and realised the maid knew something was afoot. But, thankfully, Elise said nothing and Waverly breathed a sigh of relief as she locked herself in her room.

Now came the real problem. What was she to wear? Waverly had never been to a working-class club, much less one probably frequented by homosexuals. The idea of the unknown thrilled her but also presented the complication of how to appear common.

In the end she settled for the sole low-cut dress she owned; a gentle turquoise colour hemmed with lace and beading. The accoutrements presented an issue, she’d never seen a lower-class woman wearing such extravagance. With a moment’s deliberation Waverly eventually decided to tear it free. The threads ripped easily and soon she had a plain, sleek dress in her hands. She pulled it on and stood before the mirror.

She still looked ridiculously gentrified. Perhaps she just had an air that screamed of good breeding. Whatever it was, she was frustrated as she examined her reflection. Eventually she decided to hem the lower part of her dress higher to reveal her ankles, a daring new trend. She worked quickly and, after shedding the expensive diamond heirlooms she wore about her neck and wrists, she soon looked more discreet.

Maybe too discreet? She had no idea why, but she wanted to knock the other women for six. Waverly scrutinised herself further. Then she pulled a few pins from her hair and let the long curls fall behind her, placing the pins back in against her temples to keep it from her face. And with a few extra minutes work she changed her makeup to appear more daring. With a last flourish she pulled some neat, plain slippers onto her feet and returned to the mirror. Waverly felt immense satisfaction at the change in her appearance. She looked much older without the high collared dresses she was usually forced to wear. There was even a daring hint of cleavage. She retrieved a cropped white coat from her closet and slipped it on.

“Not a place for young girls?” she murmured with a gleeful smile. “We’ll see about that.”

She checked the old clock on the mantelpiece. It was now 6:30. The others would soon be settling down for dinner. Her plan was to make her escape sometime after the dinner gong sounded. Everyone would be in the dining room at the back of the house and there was less chance of running into someone who could stop her. Waverly felt her heart racing with anticipation. She could do this! It was actually happening! She strained to hear the sounds of her family below.

Finally, the gong sounded. Waverly stood up and unlocked her door, popping her head out into the hall. She heard footsteps on the stairs and the hall beneath her. Her father shouted for his butler to bring a certain vintage of madeira. Eventually the sounds of activity dissipated and quiet descended on the house. A final door snapped shut. Waverly waited a handful of heartbeats but heard no more activity. Then she made her move. Stepping out into the hallway, she turned and locked her door again, slipping the key into the pocket of her coat. Now whoever tried her door would assume she was asleep inside.

Feeling accomplished, Waverly allowed herself a triumphant smile. She celebrated too soon.

“Where are _you_ sneaking off to?” came Wynonna’s voice.

Waverly jumped and turned to see her sister grinning mischievously at her from the landing.

“Why aren’t you at dinner?” Waverly countered, heat rising in her cheeks.

“I didn’t want to deal with Father’s whining about The People’s Budget, so I asked Sarah to bring me supper later. Now answer my question.”

Waverly knew she was beet red. But she still tried to defend herself. “I’m … meeting friends,” she said impotently.

“Must be very special friends. Or perhaps one special friend in particular?” Wynonna replied slyly, gesturing to Waverly’s outfit.

Waverly knew she could have fried an egg on her face. Was she that transparent? Of course, she was, she rebuked herself. Here she was dressed like a streetwalker, about to sneak out of the house. What else could she possibly be up to?

“Perhaps,” she countered. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would, actually,” Wynonna replied with interest.

“Well, you can’t.”

“I’m sure Father would like to know, also,” Wynonna grinned wickedly. She inflated her chest as if to shout for Ward. Waverly panicked.

“No! Please, don’t. I’ll tell you,” she begged. Wynonna beamed triumphantly. “I’m going to The Rose Field with some friends.”

“The Rose Field?” Wynonna arched one eyebrow. “Isn’t that … well … a club for deviants?”

“Perhaps. I don’t know. I met some women today at The Women’s Press Shop on Charing Cross Road and they asked me to go.”

“I see,” Wynonna said. For one horrible, terrible moment Waverly thought her sister was going to rat her out to their father. But instead Wynonna carried on towards her room. “Have fun,” she said airily, with a knowing look.

Embarrassed, but relieved, Waverly heaved a sigh and listened to Wynonna’s door close. The lock clicked and Waverly was alone. She’d conquered the first hurdle. She would worry about how much Wynonna knew about The Rose Field later.

With Wynonna safely out of the way Waverly now craned to hear other sounds of movement in the house. Thankfully, it appeared that her father and mother were in the dining room being tended to by the household servants. A peal of laughter came from the back of the house, and Waverly surmised the laundrywomen were washing in the back courtyard.

Surprisingly, Waverly managed to navigate the rest of the house unarrested and slipped out the front door as easily as if she’d been given permission to leave alone.

Once outside she paused. She hadn’t expected to get this far, however confident she’d felt while preparing to escape. Now what? She could hardly call for her father’s car to be brought around and take her to a place full of debauchery. Waverly mused.

She decided to walk and eventually hail a cab. There was a cab stand on the next street, and a fare to Piccadilly Circus from Westminster would not be beyond her reach financially. Her father allowed her a modest allowance each month for expenses such as buying new dresses, but Waverly never needed to use it. Ward would buy her whatever she wanted. He thought it ungentlemanly to quibble over money.

Waverly set off at a brisk pace. She suddenly felt very conspicuous. Thankfully she didn’t run into anyone she knew and soon arrived at the cab rank. A few men in shabby coats and hats stood around smoking pipes, their horses lined up and chomping into nosebags full of feed. They looked Waverly up and down and clearly didn’t approve of her attire.

“I need a ride to Piccadilly Circus,” she said nervously.

“We don’t give rides to whores,” one man said gruffly. He spat onto the street. “Get your master to drive you.”

Waverly was mortified. She had no retort. She spun on her heel and turned to stride away, dying inside. Why did she ever think this was a good idea?

“Hang on, miss!” came a voice. She looked over her shoulder and saw a young fellow extricate himself from the group of cabbies. He had dark skin and was even more shabbily dressed than his compatriots. His coat had several darned patches. “I’ll take you.”

“We’re all desperate for the money, Jeremy,” the first man said. “Doesn’t mean we has to lower our standards.”

“It’s the principle,” Jeremy told him. “A young lady has no business walking at night alone.”

The other cabbie sniffed but seemed to concede.

“Come with me, miss,” Jeremy said, offering her his hand deferentially. Waverly took it, casting a nervous look at the silent cabbies watching. Jeremy led her to a twin-seater hansom cab at the end of the rank. A skinny chestnut gelding stood in the traces. His ribs showed but his coat was well-cared for and Waverly guessed Jeremy doted on the animal despite being unable to afford much feed. The horse pricked his ears and peered around curiously to watch her past the blinkers attached to his bridle. She offered the beast her hand and the gelding sniffed it, then turned away satisfied.

“Cristo is a good horse, miss,” Jeremy said. “He’ll get you to Piccadilly Circus.” Waverly wondered if the young cabbie was worried about losing the fee due to the horse’s poorly appearance.

“Don’t flog him on my account,” she replied. “A nice steady pace will do us all a world of good.” Jeremy smiled at her, relieved, then handed her up into the cab and climbed to the driver’s perch up on top.

They set off at a steady pace. Despite being thin Cristo was sound and willing. He trotted along quite gaily and in no time at all Jeremy drew him up on the corner known as Piccadilly Circus, where Regent Street met Piccadilly. Waverly’s worries of how she was going to find The Rose Field vanished when she recognised Mabel, Liz, and Nicole standing outside. Mabel was smoking a thin cigarette.

“Thank you,” she said to Jeremy, allowing him to hand her down to the pavement. Then she pressed several coins into his hand. Jeremy’s eyes widened and he began to protest. “For Cristo,” Waverly replied, firmly. “Next time I need a cab I want to see him well fed.”

Jeremy grinned. “Thank you very much, miss. We’ll look forward to your next visit,” he said, bowing his head slightly and touching his cap. Then he leapt nimbly up to his perch and shook the reins. Cristo trotted off.

Waverly turned and saw that Mabel, Liz, and Nicole were all staring at her, gobsmacked. Mabel’s cigarette dropped comically from her lips and bounced on the pavement.

“Beejeezus,” Mabel whistled lowly. “Don’t you look nice.”

Waverly smiled at her, but she felt choked when she saw the way Nicole watched her, hunger flaming behind her eyes. Strangely, Waverly thought she also saw anger.

“Well, then, shall we?” Liz said. She offered her arm to Mabel. Waverly followed. Nicole brought up the rear. The American was oddly silent and Waverly worried she’d maybe crossed a line. But she didn’t have a chance to fret for long. Liz steered Mabel down an alleyway to the back of a café where a small, dingy-looking building stood. The outside was unassuming but Waverly could hear loud music. There was no signage that designated the ramshackle front as that of The Rose Field. Probably for safety’s sake, Waverly thought.

There was no doorman and the four women entered a dark room filled with the fugue of pipe smoke. Waverly gaped. To the left was a small, lit stage where a woman who was obviously a man cavorted about performing a loud song full of double entendres, accompanied by a small, moustachioed man on an American Steinway piano. The crowd, seated at small tables, sang along raucously. Some stamped their feet and roared with laughter. The audience was mostly female but there was an odd smattering of men seated together. A few were dressed in women’s clothing like the fellow on stage.

What have I got myself into? Waverly wondered.

“Come on,” Mabel grunted, shepherding Waverly toward an open table. “Beer?” she asked.

“Uh … yes, yes please,” Waverly said, reaching for her purse. Mabel shook her head.

“It’s on me,” she said. “You can get the next.” Waverly just nodded dumbly, unused to charity from the lower class. It began to dawn on her that this was a small community who had each other’s backs, regardless of wealth. The notion was foreign but pleasant.

Mabel disappeared into the crowd. Liz pulled out a small metal case filled with cigarettes. She offered one to Waverly wordlessly, but Waverly shook her head. She didn’t smoke. Liz shrugged and lit up, tapping her feet in time with the song, which appeared to be reaching a crescendo.

_For I just can't make my eyes behave_ _  
Two bad brown eyes I am their slave,  
My lips may say run away from me   
But my eyes say come and play with me,  
And you won't blame poor little me,  
I'm sure, 'Cuz I just can't make my eyes behave. _

Waverly looked to her left and met Nicole’s gaze. That same intense, brooding look of lust mingled with vexation lingered. Defiantly, Waverly held the stare. For a heartbeat it seemed as though they were the only two people in the world. Then Nicole broke the look and turned away. Waverly’s heart sank.

What had she done wrong?

Her anguish did not last long. A new performer (a woman this time) took the stage and began a fresh song. A handsome, sturdy looking girl approached and offered Waverly her hand.

“May I have this dance?” she asked forwardly, as if she were a gentleman at a debutante ball. Flattered, Waverly took her arm and the two of them entered the dance floor which was already full of whirling couples. The song was energetic and unfamiliar to Waverly, but she still managed to have fun. And upon the end of the song and the striking up of another she was palmed off to a fresh dance partner. For an hour she danced breathlessly with strange women and one effeminate man who called her ‘smashing!’.

She’d never had so much fun in her life.

Finally, the songs ended and the musicians began to pack up and it was only then that she thought of Nicole. But the American woman had disappeared. Only Mabel and Liz remained at the table. Waverly couldn’t hide her look of disappointment and Liz smiled sympathetically.

“I wouldn’t be too cut up, babes,” she said. “Nic’s principles let her down sometimes.”

Principles? How could a lesbian have principles?

Waverly hitched a confident smile on to her face. “Cut up? I had too much fun,” she replied stoically. Both Mabel and Liz laughed, but she knew they saw through her bravado.

The three of them exited The Rose Field together. As they walked down the alleyway arm in arm Waverly looked over her shoulder at the unassuming façade and relived the night in her mind. She knew her life would never be the same now.


	4. Chapter 4

Waverly swiftly became a secret regular at The Rose Field. It became common practise for her to ditch meals, or sneak out immediately after dinner when her family retired to their preferred evening activities – Ward to a glass of port, and Michelle to her brandy. Wynonna often caught Waverly sneaking out but just winked and told her to ‘have fun!’

Waverly’s closet began to fill with daring outfits, even a pair of men’s trousers and suspenders that she shocked Mabel and Liz with one evening in late-April, the day after the passing of The People’s Budget. She wore a smart vest and painted a curled moustache on her upper lip with eye pencil, then spent the evening mocking the vernacular of the gentry much to the uproarious amusement of patrons, all of whom supported the Budget. Many more girls wanted to dance with Waverly that night. She hardly sat down until closing time early in the morning and returned home at dawn with her head spinning.

But Nicole was nowhere to be seen.

Waverly didn’t lay eyes on her again until after the death of King Edward VII on the 6th of May. His body had been taken to Westminster Hall and was lying in state for the public to pay their respects. The Earp family, as staunch supporters of the monarchy, visited on the 17th of May. And on the 20th they stood outside the Hall with thousands of others as the grand funeral was conducted inside, attended by the greatest powers in Europe including the new King George V’s cousin Wilhelm II of Germany. It was a very warm day. By the time the Earp family was leaving it was nearing 27 degrees and Waverly was sweltering in her heavy dress.

She was fanning herself and daydreaming about which outfit to wear next to The Rose Field when she heard Wynonna say: “Nicole! Nicole Haught! Gosh, it’s been an _age_.”

Waverly immediately snapped out of her reverie and whipped around, eyes wide, and standing right there in the company of the Nedley family was Nicole.

She was dressed modestly this time, perhaps out of respect to the dead King, and her short, fiery hair was pinned back severely.

“Don’t you look marvellous?” Michelle gushed to her. Waverly thought Nicole looked sad. The smile she gave Michelle looked forced and didn’t reach her eyes, which had thus far avoided alighting on Waverly.

“Terrible business, the death of a King,” Randy Nedley said gravely. He was a portly man with a large yard-brush moustache. A quintessential toff, but he had always been kind to Waverly and Wynonna.

“Yes, terrible,” Ward agreed. “But I’m more concerned with our new King. He’s damnably Liberal in thinking.”

Nedley looked around nervously. It wouldn’t do for two peers to be overheard disparaging the grieving successor at the funeral of his father.

“We can discuss this over dinner, tonight perhaps?” Nedley suggested. “Young Miss Haught is staying with us. I’m sure she will be delighted to have company of her own age and sex.”

“Yes. Delighted,” Nicole echoed tonelessly. She still evaded Waverly’s gaze.

“Then it’s settled! Shall we say eight o’clock?” It was common for Edwardian dinner parties to begin late.

“Of course,” Ward nodded.

They parted ways, Nicole still studying the pavement intently.

“What was that all about?” Wynonna asked Waverly once they had returned to the Earp townhouse.

“What was what about?” Waverly asked irritably. This dinner party had ruined her plans to go to The Rose Field tonight and she wasn’t pleased about it, despite the chance of spending more time with Nicole.

“Nicole wouldn’t even look at you!”

The two sisters were in Wynonna’s room, trying on dresses for the dinner party. Waverly had shocked Wynonna by revealing a few of her new, contemporary outfits, albeit the more reserved ones. She was wearing one now, a midnight blue number trimmed in beading.

“I don’t know what her problem is,” Waverly fibbed unconvincingly. Wynonna tossed an earring at her.

“Pish posh! You’ve clearly offended her.”

“ _I’ve_ offended _her?”_ Waverly remonstrated. “Hardly. If anyone should be offended it should be me.”

“So, you two have had a falling out, then?”

Waverly blushed. Wynonna had clearly guessed something was going on between her and Nicole, if only a row. She decided to come clean.

Wynonna listened with rapt attention as Waverly confessed. “Wow,” she whistled lowly when Waverly was done. “My sister is a lesbian.”

Waverly went, if possible, an even deeper shade of red. The word lashed her like a whip, but she knew it was true. She may as well get used to hearing it.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said miserably. “Father will want me to marry a man and have children. But I can’t get Nicole out of my head.”

Wynonna cocked her head with a sympathetic pout, then came over and put her arm around Waverly’s shoulders. Waverly leaned into the comforting embrace and wrestled down tears.

“Balls to Father,” Wynonna whispered to her, now stroking Waverly’s hair. The younger Earp choked on a sob and hiccupped a laugh at the coarse language. “You can be a natty old spinster and live with me. I’ll keep Father happy with heirs.”

“With Doc?” Waverly asked slyly. Now it was Wynonna’s turn to colour.

“How did you --?”

“Oh, come on, Wynonna. The two of you are practically inseparable.” It was true. Most days Doc came to the townhouse and requested time with Wynonna. They were always chaperoned but Waverly knew that occasionally they would give Wynonna’s maid Sarah the slip and steal a few moments alone. It appeared Ward was content for his friend to court his eldest daughter. Waverly had overheard him telling Michelle that he expected their imminent engagement.

“Well …” Wynonna cleared her throat, trying to regain footing in the conversation. “Forget about me. Let’s get you looking so sensational that Nicole can’t _possibly_ ignore you a moment longer.”

Randy Nedley only lived a half mile away but Ward had Jarvis bring the carriage around and the family rode the short distance, pulling up outside Nedley’s townhouse at exactly 7:59pm.

It was a grand house, bigger than the Earp’s, which Ward didn’t like. Waverly knew it rankled her father to seem less than but tonight Ward appeared to be in a good mood. She guessed he had prepared some juicy talking points for after dinner when the men would retire to the smoking room and debate the future of Britain.

_I have a few points for them,_ she thought as they climbed the front steps and entered the spacious front hall. Nedley was there to greet them. He wrung Ward’s hand jovially and kissed the three women on their cheeks like a Frenchman.

“Welcome, welcome. It’s been too many years since the last time we entertained your family,” he boomed. Waverly knew this was because Ward preferred to host. It was a power move for potential rivals, but the practise also extended to friends, Ward liked the way guests were forced to defer to him as the head of the house. She wondered if Nedley had an inkling. She watched him joking around with Ward while his wife laughed with Michelle and decided he probably didn’t.

The dinner bell sounded at 8:03 which made Ward frown, but the two families swiftly moved to the dining room where Waverly was surprised to see not only Nicole, who was already seated, but also a dashing young man. He was broad shouldered and impeccably dressed in white-tie and tail. He looked older from behind. When he turned and fixed Ward with a winning smile she saw that he had smooth, round cheeks that looked like they’d never seen a razor.

A horrible realisation began to dawn on her. A split second later her worst fears were confirmed.

“Champ Hardy, may I present my youngest daughter, Miss Waverly Earp?” Ward said, sweeping an arm in Waverly’s direction.

_Oh no._

“Miss Earp, a pleasure,” Champ Hardy said, bowing low and shooting her what he probably thought was an irresistible grin. He added an inflection to the word ‘pleasure’ coupled with a twitch of his eyebrows that made Waverly grimace inwardly.

“Master Hardy’s family owns one of the largest coal mines in Scotland,” Ward announced to the group. “He’s the heir to an immense fortune and is in London studying foreign politics at King’s College.”

Champ laughed heartily. “You flatter me, sir,” he kowtowed. He turned back to Waverly. “I have designs on becoming an ambassador.”

“An ambassador, _really?_ How thoroughly exciting!” Wynonna piped up. “You _must_ tell me all about it.” Champ looked irritated at Wynonna’s interruption, but gentlemanly decorum meant he couldn’t lambast her. Waverly felt an immense surge of gratification for Wynonna as her elder sister successfully took Champ’s attention away.

It was the most painful dinner party Waverly had ever suffered through. She was forced to sit next to Champ, across from Nicole who spent the duration of dinner silently playing with her food, not looking up from her plate. During the third course Nicole excused herself, pleading an upset stomach, and disappeared. The rest of dinner passed by with wretched slowness. Champ spent most of the time talking at Waverly, seemingly unperturbed by her disinterest, and gave her a chipper ‘I hope we meet again soon’ as the Earp family left.

Wynonna kept throwing sidelong glances at Waverly as they rode the short distance back to the Earp townhouse, but she didn’t say anything until the two girls reached the landing adjoining their respective bedrooms.

“I’m so sorry, Waves,” she said.

Waverly wordlessly closed her door, turned the key in the lock, and burst into tears.


	5. Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER**

_There is violence and mild sexual assault depicted in this chapter._

_This is also a historical story that has nothing to do with today's political climate. I have portrayed the London Police Force as how they acted on Black Friday (18th November, 1910) out of an interest in historical accuracy. This story has nothing to do with current police actions in England or elsewhere in the world, nor is it intended to be a negative representation of law enforcement in the modern age or a political statement either for or against police. It is simply a glimpse at a moment in time. Thank you._

*******************************

Waverly no longer attended The Rose Field. Ward was grimly determined to pawn her off to Champ Hardy and insisted that the family go on lengthy outings together with Champ in tow. Doc and Wynonna, now formally engaged, also came along. Champ remained blissfully unaware of Waverly’s disinterest, even complimenting her on how good she was at listening. Waverly knew she should make an attempt to discourage Champ’s affections, but she was too depressed to care.

In June the family, Doc, and Champ travelled by motor car to Epsom Downs Racecourse to watch the Derby, won by the popular horse Lemberg. Ward was pleased as he had recently purchased a yearling colt by the same sire for a knockdown price, something he was quick to brag about to anyone who would listen. Champ enthusiastically questioned Ward about racehorses for the rest of the day and by the time they returned to London Ward was practically exploding with happiness. Waverly half-expected him to announce the wedding then and there.

In July they watched a cricket match at Lord’s, and attended Wimbledon for the tennis. And throughout August, September, and October they went to ball after ball hosted by important men. Ward was having the time of his life, despite rumours of dissension in the House of Lords. Communication was breaking down between the two Houses, further inflamed by the fact Parliament had been prorogued in July due to adversity towards Asquith’s promised Conciliation Bill for universal suffrage. The Bill had passed its second reading 299 votes to 189 after relentless campaigning by the Women’s Social and Political Union (WSPU). But the fate of the vote for women hung impotently in the air until Parliament was due to reconvene in November.

Both Waverly and Wynonna declined to return to Earp Manor that winter. Wynonna had recently started volunteering as a nurse, and Waverly feigned a desire to spend time with Champ in order to hide her true motive for staying in London – to see firsthand the outcome of the Conciliation Bill.

She knew Nicole and others like Mabel and Liz must be working frantically to consolidate the small gains made by the WSPU that year. Waverly was sorely tempted to visit The Women’s Press but was unable to make her escape from under her father’s watchful eye. Vexed by the quibbling between the House of Lords and the House of Commons over The People’s Budget, Ward compensated by exerting more control than ever over his younger daughter. Waverly could barely leave the room without answering a barrage of questions, and Elise had been instructed to follow her wherever she went. Waverly’s only sanctuary was her bedroom.

On the few times she was allowed to leave the house, always accompanied, Waverly sensed the city of London was on edge. Conflict bubbled just below the surface, like a simmering pot of water, manifesting itself in arguments on the street and the odd brawl. Policemen nervously went about their duties and seemed quick to provoke. While out shopping with her mother one morning Waverly witnessed a woman throw a rock at a mounted officer. She was unceremoniously tackled by two nearby police on foot and frogmarched away. The incident left Waverly shaken. She hoped Nicole was keeping herself out of trouble.

And then it all came to a head.

The 18th of November dawned cold and still. Dreary winter light shone weakly over London. Waverly emerged from her bedroom at noon to the shocking news that, frustrated by the quarrelling between the two Houses, Prime Minister H.H. Asquith had called for a new general election. Parliament was to be dissolved on the 28th of November.

“What!” Waverly yelped. “But what about the Conciliation Bill?”

Doc shrugged and picked up the newspaper. Wynonna paused while buttering a slice of bread and gestured with the knife. “Emmeline Pankhurst and her suffragettes are having a meeting at Caxton Hall. I don’t think they’ll be pleased.”

“I must get there,” Waverly said immediately. She stood up and rushed from the room.

Waverly was in such a hurry she didn’t bother with a hat or jacket, and she certainly didn’t wait for an escort. Ward was at Parliament today so he was not present to object as Waverly galloped down the front steps of the townhouse and pelted towards the cab rank on the next street. Thankfully Jeremy and Cristo were there. Both looked much the better for Waverly’s regular patronage months earlier. Cristo’s copper coat gleamed and his ribs were no longer visible. Jeremy wore a new coat with no darned patches. A white smile split his dark face when he saw her. He had grown a beard since the last time Waverly rode in his cab.

“Miss Earp!” Jeremy called as she raced towards them. Concern replaced his smile when he realised how frantic she was. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Never mind!” Waverly panted, leaping into the carriage. “Take me to The Women’s Press!” Even though the action would be at Caxton Hall, Waverly knew her friends were probably in the shop on Charing Cross Road. They might not even know something was afoot. Either way, she must first check there.

Jeremy leapt to his perch and clucked to Cristo. The big gelding immediately picked up a quick trot. Waverly sat in the cab fidgeting impatiently, but they could not safely go any faster.

Her agitation was in vain. Before long the carriage came to Victoria Street and Waverly could see in the distance a great crowd gathering in Parliament Square. She felt a thrill of excitement course through her.

At last! After months of inaction out of fear that militant protesting would destroy the chances of the Conciliation Bill, the suffragettes were revolting. As the carriage drew closer Waverly gaped. There had to be hundreds of people packed into the streets moving towards the Houses of Parliament. They were chanting slogans and waving their fists, but there didn’t seem to be anything more spirited occurring.

Yet.

Waverly agonised over whether to keep going to The Women’s Press shop. Then realised there was no quick way for the carriage to make it through the throng. She was better off looking for her friends here. Jeremy seemed pleased when she jumped out and handed him the fare. He didn’t look comfortable having his beloved horse so close to such noise and gladly turned around to head back to the cab rank.

It was 1:30pm.

Now Waverly was alone. She paused, deliberating her next move. It gave her enough time to take in the scene and she noticed policemen at the fringes of the mob. She surmised they belonged to the local A Division which were experienced in dealing with suffragette protests without violence. They stood casually, watching the commotion, but Waverly sensed their readiness. The air was alive with activity. It crackled down her spine and set her nerves alight. She felt her heart hammering beneath her ribcage.

Today was different.

Not all those present were women, or even protestors. A throng of men were becoming progressively more and more unruly. They pushed several women and roared insults. Waverly felt something press against her and turned to see half a dozen women at her back, shouting at the men. She found herself being swept helplessly towards the action. More women piled in from the sides until Waverly found herself in the middle of a mob.

Directly in front of her now was a wall of bystanders and policemen. The noise was terrific. She saw that violence had finally erupted and watched a burly officer pick up a small woman and toss her at the men in the crowd. They jeered and groped at her while she kicked and screamed. Two suffragettes rushed forwards and grasped her arms, pulling her to safety. Now the policemen advanced into the crowd of women. They swung truncheons and fists indiscriminately. The heavy blows knocked protestors to the ground.

But the women were fighting back. Waverly saw three of them wrestle a young ‘bobby’ down and take his truncheon. A tall woman picked it up and dealt a crack across the head of another policeman rushing forward to help his comrade. He fell heavily and lay groaning at her feet while she hammered several more blows against his ribs. Waverly looked left and saw a middle-aged woman drive her boot directly into the groin of a moustachioed officer. He buckled to his knees and vomited.

Waverly tried to make her way to the edge of the fighting. When she was nearly clear she came across two bystanders grappling with an attractive young woman about Waverly’s age. One man had her arms pinned behind her back while the other was fumbling with her skirt. Both were grinning. The woman was frozen in terror, but her eyes darted up to meet Waverly’s gaze and they screamed for help. It seemed as if the cops nearby had no issue with such depravity, for none made attempt to stop it..

“Fuck it,” Waverly muttered. She saw no weapon nearby but she would be damned if she didn’t try stop the men. “Hey, cocksuckers!” she shouted.

The men froze, gobsmacked that such an insult could come from a woman. They gawped at Waverly, momentarily stunned into inaction. It was all Waverly needed. Imitating the woman she saw before she swung her boot violently upwards towards the groin of the nearest man. It connected solidly and he groaned, dropping the girl’s skirt to cup his bruised genitals. Waverly turned to the next man who immediately let go of his prey and high-tailed it away from the fighting.

“Coward!” she hollered after him. Then: “are you alright?” she asked the girl. She got a breathless nod in reply. “Best head back to Caxton Hall. You’ll be safe there.”

The girl had scarcely made her exit when Waverly felt a pair of large, strong arms envelop her from behind and hold her tight in a bear hug. The man strained and lifted so that Waverly’s feet came off the ground. She squealed and kicked uselessly in mid-air; her arms pinned by her side. One meaty hand slid upwards and roughly grasped her breast, squeezing hard through the fabric.

Hot breath that reeked of alcohol fluttered across her cheek. “Pretty thing like ye don’t need the vote,” came a gravelly voice. Waverly’s skin crawled with revulsion and fear. She couldn’t breathe as her assailant’s arms tightened. “Ye just need a husband who’s man enough to –”

But he never finished his threat. The pressure on Waverly’s torso slackened as he slumped silently to the ground. Her boots hit the cobblestones once more and she jumped free, turning wide-eyed to see what had happened.

Nicole stood there with her legs braced apart, chest heaving, one white-knuckled fist grasping a stolen police truncheon. Waverly’s attacker, a swarthy fellow with missing teeth, was out cold. Blood trickled from his head.

For a heartbeat Waverly and Nicole stood and stared at one another, then a surge of affection overwhelmed Waverly and she abandoned all pretense, throwing herself into Nicole’s arms which came up around her. “Thank you,” Waverly whispered into her ear, and she felt Nicole’s grip twitch.

But their embrace didn’t last long.

“ ‘Ere! What’s this, then?”

They separated and saw a tall bobby staring at the unconscious man at their feet.

“He assaulted me, officer,” Waverly said. The policeman looked at her blankly.

“He assaulted you? Then why is he the one injured?”

“I stopped him from molesting her,” Nicole said. She tried to hide the truncheon but the man noticed the movement.

“Did you steal that from an officer?” he asked. Waverly’s heart sank. She could hear the accusation in his tone.

“I found it,” Nicole replied calmly. The man pulled his own truncheon free and pointed with it.

“Drop it,” he commanded. Nicole did as she was told. The weapon clattered on the ground behind her. Waverly saw Nicole ball her fists behind her back. The cop didn’t, however, and he stepped forward almost lazily, completely self-assured in his dominance. “You’re under arr –” he began.

Nicole moved like a striking snake. Her left hand shot up to knock away the officer’s truncheon, her right one grabbed him by the other wrist and twisted. He yelped and tried to leap away. Nicole yanked his arm and forced him to his knees. But it was only surprise that gave her the upper-hand. Within seconds the policeman realised how weak her hold was and he broke free, rising to his feet spitting mad.

“You _bitch!”_ he hissed, then dove at her.

Waverly hardly knew what happened next. Instinct kicked in and she snatched up the stolen truncheon, lashing out with blind fury. The end crunched sickeningly against the man’s temple and his eyes rolled back in his head. His fingers scrabbled vainly at thin air as he crumpled, hitting the cobblestones with a dull thump.

“Waverly!” Nicole yelled.

Waverly’s eyes snapped up and she saw Nicole diving for her, focused on something over Waverly’s shoulder. Waverly tried to turn but all of a sudden it felt like she was moving through thick mud. Time slowed and she knew something bad was about to happen.

It came in the form of three police. One managed to shove Waverly, but Nicole placed herself in between the young Earp and the driving truncheons. Two blows landed on her head in quick succession, but it was the vicious crack to her collarbone from the third that finally drove her to her knees screaming in agony.

Waverly stared in horror as the men cuffed Nicole. Then she felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked up and saw a grinning bobby next to her.

“Goodnight,” he said, waggling his fingers at her mockingly.

Then everything went black.


End file.
